


Genetic Makeup

by Gemini_00



Series: Genetic Makeup [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Robin: Son of Batman (Comics)
Genre: Batfamily, Batfamily Feels, Child Abandonment, Daddy Issues, Damian Wayne Feels, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kidnapping, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 10:56:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17765480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemini_00/pseuds/Gemini_00
Summary: When Damian Wayne and four other of Gotham's elite children have bene taken hostage by Deathstroke the Terminator, the secret Robin knows it's somebody else paying for it. But could the mercenary have ulterior motives for picking up such a small job in Gotham?





	Genetic Makeup

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back. Please read notes at end.

Damian stared at Slade with a deadpan glare in his eyes as he ‘sat’ next to the mayor’s granddaughter, Natalie, and Ronan Davidson, the sketchy councilman as well as Charlotte and Danny Falcone. All of which were between Damian’s age and sixteen. Gotham’s sketchy elite, politicians, and mob bosses. 

Wilson had been playing on the phone while the group of children he snagged from Gotham academent whimpered against the wall. There was only one reason anyone would kidnap all of them, a contract. The only reason someone would draw up a kidnapping contract with Slade, easy, because Damian Wayne would be able to take down anyone else. And they needed the best of the best.

“You kids are hungry, right?” Wilson asked, “I don’t know school schedule lunch or any of that, but I’m sure I acquired you all right around lunch time.”

Damn Wilson for knowing the Bats and League well enough to disarm him. The knots were too tight for Damian to loosen, the rope was stronger than most twan. The gag in his mouth annoyed him. Instead of crying like the others, he just glared. 

“Okay,” Wilson began, “See all these guns, well I’ll use these guns to shoot you if you decide to be difficult. If you’re not difficult then I’m going to feed you. Does everyone like Mac n’ Cheese. Nod if we do.”

They all did except Damian who just continued to glare. Wilson just laughed and began to take the gags out of their mouths and tie their hands up front. Each ate slowly and cautiously as he got to Damian, Slade grabbed the bruised face forcing it to look at him. To the others, Wilson may just seem like he is picking on the youngest of the hostages… The most defiant one, but the smallest and most defenseless of them. After all, Damian Wayne can’t even run the mile without running out of breath, that time he broke his arm is because he is a complete klutz. 

Wilson knew better though. He also knew that Robin was not going to risk his identity nor the wellbeing of innocents. Wilson swears off killing children, but he has no qualms about causing them pain.

“Not hungry, Wayne?” Wilson asked with a grin on his face. Damian glared at the man in front of him, no doubt the mercenary would at least drug his portion of the food. Damian couldn’t help but headbutt the man in the face, he was rewarded with a sickening crack of a nose. It would heal, and barely caused Wilson pain, but it made Damian feel better.

“Where are you taking him?” the Falcone girl yelled as Wilson jerked him up. He made his way towards the only door in the room.

“To make an example,” Wilson snapped at the others as he dragged Damian helplessly to the other room. From the next room, Damian realized he was wrong about the location. They weren’t in a lair or such but a model condo, uppercity quality. It helped Damian collect clues about who would hire the mercenary.

“You shouldn’t underestimate any opponent,” Damian seethed when he was pushed onto the model couch, his gag taken out. It was useless to wiggle out of the bondage. Wilson was skilled, for now Damian could gather information to who wanted the elite’s, politicians, and major crime lords youngest.

Wilson scoffed but showed the screening of the room. The imbeciles in the other room were eating their processed meal and whimpering. Damian does his best not to grin at the sight of playground bully with a wetspot on front of his pants, “I think we’re good. Now, listen up kid, I took a little visit to mommy and grandaddy the other day. They had some interesting things to say about you.”

“The League set you up to this?” Damian quirked an eyebrow.

“No. Someone else did this, although your grandfather does believe I should start taking an interest in you,” Wilson eyed up the kid, “And I figured why not get paid while figuring out if this was true or not.”

“Am I supposed to read your mind or are you going to tell me what you’re talking about?” Damian spat. Wilson turned his back to flip through a bag on the counter. The bag was simple and black, and didn’t look to hold any guns or weapons. The man shifted through things while Damian took his chance to evaluate the situation. Batman or the others would very likely find them soon and Wilson preferred to avoid messing with the family in costume.

The paper shoved into his face was Damian’s biological makeup, including all the ‘adjustments’ that his mother and Talia allowed within his youth and in embryo. Damian read over it, nothing was different. Father had poured over it when he first showed up, then again when he died, and again when he was revived. Damian was molded into being the perfect vessel for his grandfather.

“This is all you wanted to show me?” Damian raised an eyebrow.

“See, that gene right there. Subject 679, metagenes that didn’t submerge. Your daddy-o never dug into it further. Brucie Wayne’s DNA just couldn’t connect with the meta genes. So why worry?” Wilson explained, “I’m subject 679. And to get that trait, for it to be a recessive trait, what would I have to be?”

Damian narrowed his eyes at the man, “ There’s other ways around that. You and I both know that. A spell, a cast, a simple procedure to-”  
“Why go through all of that when they had my DNA to just whip it on up and-”

“I already have a father, Wilson,” Damian stated without care, “Whatever part of my genetic make up you may be a part of, It doesn’t matter. I’m a Wayne. Clearly, they’ve messed with your head. You’re just another pawn they’ve used to make me a vessel for my grandfather. Nothing more.”

Wilson stared at Damian long enough before shoving the gag back in the boy’s mouth with a grin, “Knew your dick of a personality would put things in perspective. Thanks kid.”

He was roughly dragged back into the room of other children and thrown into the place he sat before. Wilson immediately set back to work of properly restraining the others and gagging them. The phone call occurred and Wilson gave instructions to the person on the other line. That told Damian a bit more about their location, like the fact his building was new and completely empty. Infact, this might be a complex that is meant to clean up Gotham’s poorer areas.

“Okay kiddies,” Wilson began, “Uncle Deathstroke is about to get paid and head on off. Now, you all be good little children and be nice.”

There was screaming and crying behind the gag. Yet Damian stared at Deathstroke the Terminator, taking in the new information. Damian can’t have two biological father, yes? Only father was the only one involved in his conception. But biologically, it now clearly states that Bruce Wayne and Subject 679 fathered him. It leaves a sick feeling in his stomach, he can’t tell father or the others. They barely tolerate him now, he’s an obligation that they can’t send back to mother. What if they decide to hand him over to-

“You retrieved them all,” it was a woman wearing black. Damian recognized her from father’s case files. She was old Gotham, so old that she’d been written out of it. But she still had money, Miss Lambert had a strong connection to the court of owls, but was believed to be dead after the whole Gray Son ordeal. Clearly not.

“Yep, so do I get paid or what?” Wilson asked, placing the Deathstroke gear on his head. 

“You are being paid,” She nodded before looking over the children, “I’d also like to offer you a million dollar raise but time is running thin. No doubt, Batman and the GCPD are looking for their precious little gems. Even the Falcones men are offering an award for your head.”

“I can handle myself, what you want?”

“A public execution and I sign over all the money I have to you,” She agreed.

The room went dead silent. Lambert was worth as much as father, the only way for Wilson to receive that much would be for her to die. Because no doubt would she be found, she knows this, it will be public knowledge that she funded the execution of the child elite. Damian was prepared to save the imbeciles around him if necessary, but Wilson’s knots were so tight. It dawned on Damian what he was going to be completely at the mercenary’s mercy if Wilson decided to take it. Still, Wilson had a code.

“If I say no,” Wilson began, “What happens?”

“The agreed upon amount is still sent to you and the execution will be done by me,” She told them, “I imagine Deathstroke would truly deliver my message wonderfully though.”

“Your message being?” Wilson asked, Damian’s mind may be playing tricks on him but is the man worried about him.

“The elite of Gotham have taken so much. They kick and they kick at the little people. My family clearly saw this but were seen as pariahs for this, as if because we didn’t lie about it that meant we weren’t good enough. Yet Wayne with his antics and a bastard child. He is the face of this city with the pretty lies. Or the mayor and hiding the dirty of this city with all the money. Or the dear councilman who cheats on his wife and profits off the prostitution ring. THen the Falcones, oh they’re killers and they gain a profit off it. Each of them are dirty and I plan to punish and purify. They will see Gotham’s wrath.”

“You belong in Arkham,” Deathstroke said before he drew out his gun. It faced Damian’s direction. The coldness of the mask sent dear down his spine. Damian’s stomach did an odd turn that reminded him far too much of his mother placing a bounty on his head, “Is the money in my account?”

“Of course,” came her silky voice, “We do need to set up the ca-”

The black sheep of Gotham’s elite was silenced by a bullet to the head. Her brain matter splattered onto the children nearest her. Damian practically screams through the gag at Wilson because, he didn’t have to kill her.

Deathstroke adjust his mask before taking out a cylinder of sorts, “Nighty night kiddos.”

In seconds, with the gag in his mouth, Damian felt his body and mind give way to the gas.

 

When Damian comes to, he can’t keep his eyes open or his thoughts straight. He knows he’s being held, but can’t figure out by who. They’re sturdy like his father’s arm but they don’t cling to him like Damian could be taken by any given moment. He tries to get a good look at the man but his half lidded eyes won’t cooperate. 

“Shh,” The voice whispers, it’s like harsh gravel. Damian does his best to focus on it, to gather clues but the arms are warm in the cold Gotham. Sleep takes over again.

When he wakes up again, he’s in his own bed with Pennyworth standing bedside. His wrists have been bandaged but he’s left feeling completely able besides a small headache. He recalls the events that occurred before. The kidnapping by Deathstroke for Lambert, the new reveal of his genetics, Lambert’s crazy plan, then Wilson killing her point blank. Admittedly, Damian is almost embarrassed to have been trapped in such a mediocre way.

“Pennyworth, where is father?” Damian frowned.

“I believe downstairs in his musty old cave, pouring over the computer. It seems Deathstroke told him something quite troubling when the villain delivered you,” Pennyworth shared, “Are you thirsty, Master Damian? I think I’ll boil a pot of tea and make some quiche. Would you like some?”

Damian wished he felt hungry, but all he felt was panic. Did Wilson inform father of his discovery? It seemed like he had when Damian stepped down into the cave clutching at a mug of tea and half eaten sandwich. Wilson’s genetic makeup screamed at him from the screen of the large computer. Damian’s stomach twisted even further.

“Father-”

“Come here, son,” was the silent and strong voice. Damian wouldn’t dare not listen to the man. So when he came forward, expecting to be banished or hit, his father surprised him by pulling him into his lap and reaching around him to click on Damian’s own genetic make up. Subject 679 had been changed into Slade Wilson, “15% of your genetic make-up comes from Wilson, but think of it as a blanket covering the 50% that comes from your mother and I.”

“But, he’s still part of me, he still could be considered a biological-” Damian couldn’t finish the sentence. Father. Slade Wilson could be considered his father.

Damian felt the arm around his waist pull at him harder, “You’re my son, Damian. I don’t care if all of you came from Slade Wilson. Nothing changes that, am I clear?”

“Yes, father.”

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what you think of this possible arc. It won't be a major point but I always thought it could be interesting after being inspired by the comics. 
> 
> Please support this wonderful Batfamily/Redhood fan series where I've gathered my inspiration for Damian Wayne and Jason Todd. Seriously they are Ismahawk level good  
> https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCq-0ZJeZQ99fS8CiF6nBlgg
> 
> and please support their Kickstart by donating even a dollar and share with your friends! They need it or we won't get a season two 
> 
> http://bit.ly/redhoods2
> 
> Comments make the world go round.


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